


Let Loving Start

by cissues



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Closeted Character, Fix-It, Homophobic Language, I love Bill but he needed to go back to Audra, Karaoke, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 23:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissues/pseuds/cissues
Summary: "The truth was that he had never been the brave one. Eddie was braver than him. Hell, Stan had been braver than him. He lied about his fear all those years ago because the thought of saying the truth out loud was scarier than anything else he could think of. He’d said clowns because it was easy. They were all scared of clowns at that point. His real fear was quieter than that, though. It was deep and it was vast and it stuck with him throughout his whole life."Eddie survived, Richie left, then there was a karaoke night.





	Let Loving Start

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so proud of the dialogue for this one oh my god...
> 
> I love Bill but it didn't make sense for him to stay in Maine for this one, I don't think. Sorry :( also this was inspired by my local small-town karaoke night and a sweet moment I witnessed between a friend and her long time casual partner during one of those said small-town karaoke nights. I also have no idea what the culture of Caribou, Maine is, I just chose it cuz it was the highest population town nearest the US/Canadian border :\
> 
> Also follow me on twitter @peachieweech and tumblr at beepbeepbitchboy for reddie bs!
> 
> I hope y'all like this!

It was over. The house had fallen and so had Eddie. 

Almost. 

It was too close, far too close, and Richie had to leave. If Eddie died on the operation table, if he had died in his hospital bed days later, if he survived and then left again, went back to New York with his wife and his job and his house, then Richie didn’t want to be there. So he left. While his friends waited at the hospital, worried and scared and  _ there _ , Richie went back to the townhouse and he packed his things and he left.

He turned off his phone for the better part of a week.

He’d cancelled all of his shows, making up something about a family loss, or a tragedy, whatever his manager and his fanbase would buy. He spent most of the days holed up in his too-big house, alone and trying to think about anything else, but he thought about it anyway.

He knew if he had stayed, if he was sitting in that waiting room when the doctor came in and said that Eddie hadn’t made it, something would have broken inside of him. He would have died that day, too. He didn’t want to even consider what he would have done.

If he had stayed, and if he was sitting in that waiting room when the doctor came in and said that Eddie was fine, that he was alive and well and the surgeries were a success, he would have had to watch fucking  _ Mrs. Kaspbrak _ march into that hospital room before any of them. He would have had to watch Eddie get carted away, stuffed into a plane to New York and he knew that would have been the last time he’d ever get to see Eddie, cradled and coddled by a carbon copy of his mother, this time with a wedding ring.

At least in his dark home with a whole bottle of too-expensive whiskey and a black phone screen, he could exist in a world where he never needed to find out. Schrodinger’s Eddie. 

That is, until he finally turned his phone back on six days later.

Once the device rebooted and sluggishly connected itself to the internet, he was flooded with texts and voicemails and even a few emails. He huffed a sigh through his nose, closing his eyes for an overload of information he didn’t want to know. He could, potentially, exist in this state of unknowing indefinitely, but he needed to use his phone and a part of him, a small part of him that was actually not very small at all and that always seemed to get him in the worst trouble when he was impaired enough not to ignore it, wanted to see Eddie, wanted to make sure he was okay. Wanted to Know.

So he opened his texts first.

The vast majority of them were from Bev. When he scrolled through the week of texts oscillating between accusatory, understanding, sympathetic, and angry, he picked up enough information to assume that Eddie was alive.

The relief that washed over him was  _ intoxicating _ . The proceeding wave of guilt and dread was sobering.

He blinked away tears as he read that last few messages Bev sent.

_ ‘When you’re ready, call me. We have a lot to talk about.’  _

_ ‘Eddie says hi.’ _

_ ‘Also some other stuff but I won’t repeat it _ .’

His throat clicked when he swallowed as he exited out of her chat to open up Mike’s. He only sent one message that simply read;

_ ‘We understand. Take your time. We love you.’ _

And if Richie wasn’t crying before, he definitely was now. God bless Mike Hanlon.

Eddie also sent him a message, but he didn’t open it. He didn’t dare.

He looked at his voicemails next. Unsurprisingly, there was three from Bev, one left only a few hours ago, and a few smattering voicemails left from the others, including one from Eddie that was a staggering seventeen minutes and thirty seven seconds long.

Richie opened Bev’s first voicemail.

“ _ RICHIE? Richie? Oh my god, where are you? You better call me back right now. We turned around and you were gone, holy shit, Rich. Are you okay? Please call, we’re worried. Eddie’s in surgery, Rich. They said his odds look good. You have to come back, he’ll be devastated. God, you fucking asshole, please come back. _ ”

He didn’t come back, obviously.

He opened the next one.

“ _ I just want to make it clear that I hate your voicemail greeting. No one does prank voicemail greetings anymore you asshole. Um… so, Eddie’s out of surgery. We just went in to see him. He’s pretty messed up but he’s alive. He asked about you and we couldn’t… we didn’t know what to say. You just… you just left. Ben went back to the townhouse to get some stuff for us and said all your bags were gone. Not even a note, Rich? Really? How goddamn dramatic do you need to be? Anyway, we’re going to stay in Derry until Eddie’s discharged. His wife was called and… I don’t know what happened but after she went to see him she just kinda… stormed out. She was crying and when I went to check on Eds he was crying, too. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he’s staying with me and Ben for a while at Ben’s mom’s house. She lives near the border so… away from Derry. Still a little close for comfort, but we didn’t want Eds on a plane until he was more healed up. _ ”

At this point Bev took a deep breath and then sighed long and loud.

“ _ Rich, it would mean a lot if you called. We miss you. All of us. You don’t even have to talk about anything, we just want to know that you’re okay. Love you. Call me back, Rich _ .”

Bev’s third voicemail was what broke him.

“ _ Hi it’s me again. You haven’t called so I just have to assume you’re safe, for my own sanity. We heard that you cancelled your tour, but the media didn’t say you’re dead so that’s… comforting. Um, so Eddie is getting discharged next week and we were… we’re thinking of going out to celebrate. Nothing big, just, um… karaoke. It was Eddie’s idea. He’s doing a lot better. Bill had to go, but the rest of us are still here. Mike’s still tying up loose ends in Derry so he’ll be there, too. It would mean a lot if you came. You don’t have to explain yourself or anything, just come to the Western Tavern in Caribou next Friday. At nine. Please. I know you can afford the plane ticket. You can stay at Ben’s mom’s place if you need, but you kind of owe us this. _ ”

Bev’s voice had gotten sour and bitter. He could tell she was mad, but in the Beverly sort of way where she makes you feel her wrath through short and poisonous jabs. He did owe them this, but hearing it said out loud buried deep in his chest and locked his breathing into little, desperate breaths.

He dropped the phone on the couch, pressing his palms under his glasses and into his eyes. His body shook slightly as he tried to even out his breathing.

The truth was that he had never been the brave one. Eddie was braver than him. Hell,  _ Stan _ had been braver than him. He lied about his fear all those years ago because the thought of saying the truth out loud was scarier than anything else he could think of. He’d said clowns because it was easy. They were all scared of clowns at that point. His real fear was quieter than that, though. It was deep and it was vast and it stuck with him throughout his whole life.

When his lungs stopped shuddering, Richie sniffed and wiped at his eyes, picking up his phone again.

Mike’s message was gentle and sweet. It was understanding and it made Richie smile, just a little. He’d said,  _ don’t worry _ and  _ we understand _ and  _ take your time _ and Richie always knew that Mike was the emotionally intelligent one, rivaling even Ben. Ben gave space. He was the one who could sense when you needed to vent, or be held, or needed a minute. Mike always had the exact right words to say to make the buzzing in your head quiet, for just a moment.

Bill called just to inform Richie that he was going back to L.A. but he was available to talk whenever and that he loved Richie. It was short and sweet and Richie appreciated his friends for knowing him. Even after so long it was as if they were able to slip into the same roles as when they were kids.

Finally, Richie was staring at the call from Eddie. He still hadn’t read the text, and the voicemail seemed even more daunting, but he took a deep breath and tapped the message.

“ _ -Richie… oh you fucking asshole, I can’t believe you. A joke greeting? Really? What are you, fucking twelve? God, now I’ve lost my train of thought. Do you understand how many painkillers I’m on right now? I can’t, like,  _ mentally _ deal with your bullshit antics. Fuck. Okay, um, Bev said she tried calling you a few times and you didn’t pick up and I thought that… I dunno, you’d pick up for me but I guess not. So whatever. That’s fine. I just wanted to let you know that I’m fucking  _ alive _ , by the way. Skin of my goddamn teeth, too. Wish you’d been-- fuck. _ ”

There was a long pause where Richie had to stare a flaming hole in his coffee table to keep himself from crying.

“ _ Fuck, okay. I’m getting out of here in like a week and a half and I wanna do something stupid to celebrate. Like, I dunno, maybe karaoke or like trivia or some shit. Something normal. Just like, get drinks with my friends and pretend everything is fine, you know? I, um… I’d really like if you came. To whatever it is we do. I don’t even know where the fuck you are but you can probably afford last minute plane tickets. I’ll have Bev give you the details when we figure it out. I, um… I also forgive you, or whatever. For leaving. I get it. I probably would have left if I wasn’t fucking bleeding out. But, yeah. I just wanted you to know. No hard feelings. See you next week, dipshit. You better fucking come. _ ”

The message beeped to indicate the end and Richie immediately choked out a bubbling sob. It was disgusting, his face pinching right in the middle and spit bursting from his lips. His shoulders shook so hard it looked like, for a minute, he was laughing. And maybe he was. Maybe it was relief spilling out from him. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something else entirely.

Schrodinger’s emotion.

Richie cried for twenty eight minutes straight. Towards the end it sounded more like hiccups than tears, but by that time he was on his laptop buying plane tickets to fucking Maine. Again.

That Friday morning he landed in Bangor International Airport with a backpack slung over his shoulder and anxiety thrumming through his body.

It was 11am by the time he was checking into his shitty hotel. He thought about calling Bev, letting her know he was in town, that he was coming to the stupid fucking karaoke night. But he didn’t. Instead, he laid down on the cheap comforter and watched public access TV until 6pm. He then showered for nearly a whole hour and spent another thirty minutes agonizing over the two shirt options he brought. Neither were particularly flattering or nice-looking, it was just finding which one was the least offensive. By 8pm he was on the road towards the bar. His knuckles white on the steering wheel to keep them from inevitably shaking.

Eddie had said “ _ no hard feelings _ ” and “ _ I forgive you _ ”, but what about the others? And how sincere had Eddie been? There was a very good chance that the moment he walked through the door he was going to get decked in the face and screamed at. And he would deserve it, he would, but the anticipation was sort of making him want to throw up.

The bar was only about fifteen minutes from his hotel, so he parked towards the back, where the others wouldn’t see him when they arrived, and proceeded to chain smoke for the entirety of his wait. He checked his phone idly, purposefully ignoring his text app and his voicemails. He still hadn’t checked Eddie’s text, and he hadn’t listened to the voicemails again since that night a week and a half ago. By the time the clocked rolled slowly into 9pm, Richie sucked in a deep breath and opened his door. Bev had told him nine in her voicemail, but knowing Eddie they would have already been there for at least twenty minutes. He threw his cigarette into the gravel of the parking lot and ground it out with the heel of his shoe. He let himself have a moment of realization, of acknowledgement that he was doing this, that he had just flown eight hours to go to a karaoke night with his childhood friends that he’d abandoned as soon as he could. That Eddie was in there, alive, and waiting for him.

He inhaled shakily and walked inside.

The bar was mostly dead. It was small and hokey and smelled like cigarettes from the smoke wafting in from the open patio door. The bartender looked bored and comfortable, leaning against the liquor shelf with his arms crossed, watching a very drunk woman shouting the lyrics to Strawberry Wine by Deana Carter, off key but surprisingly emotional. He had his hands buried deep in his pockets, glancing around the dark bar and, after a moment, spotted four faces, slack with disbelief.

He smiled weakly and waved.

Eddie put his face in his hands.

Richie sighed.

He made his way over and Mike was the first to get up, arms out and suddenly smiling at him.

“Richie,” he said with genuine warmth. Richie hugged him, eyes still trained on Eddie who hadn’t yet surfaced.

“Hey, guys.”

Bev let out a surprised laugh before rising as well, embracing him. Ben was next, mumbling something that Richie didn’t catch over the wailing in the background. When they parted, Richie gave him a questioning look that Ben returned with a serious one.

“Hey, Eds,” Richie tried again. Eddie finally lifted his face from his hands, jaw slack. “You look like shit.”

Eddie’s expression immediately transformed into a familiar scowl. “At least I have a fucking excuse, Tozier. What’s yours?”

“Genetics,” Richie shrugged, a smile slowly pulling at his lips as he cautiously lowered himself into a chair, “worst of both worlds. Went and Maggie really fucked up.”

This pulled a shocked laugh from Eddie and suddenly they were grinning at each other and, as if it were second nature, Eddie placed a hand on Richie’s shoulder and squeezed. There was an instinct to place his hand over it, but Richie resisted and looked around at the group.

“Hey, um, so I’m sorry I didn’t--”

“No need, Rich. We’re just glad you’re here.” Mike interrupted and his face was so soft and kind that it calmed Richie immediately. He just nodded and tried to look grateful.

“So who’s going up there?” He asked, reaching out and swiping Bev’s beer like he suddenly remembered he used to do in high school. She protested for a moment before relaxing again, smirking at him.

“Mike’s in line, he’s gonna do Billy Joel.” Ben said around the rim of his mixed drink.

“ _ Vienna _ ,” Mike elaborated.

“It’s very ambitious of him, goddamn long and depressing.” Eddie mumbled, but he was smiling.

“That’s funny, that’s what your mom said about my di-”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up, Rich!”

The table was laughing and it felt like the Jade Dragon again, it felt like the clubhouse, it felt like Richie’s basement during their slumber parties. Despite everything, despite how Richie had left, despite Eddie almost dying, they fell instantly back into it like they always have.

Mike went up and absolutely killed it. His voice was deep and melodic and at the end the entire bar was cheering for him. Bev and Ben ended up doing a duet, singing sweetly at each other with completely unsubtle heart eyes and intertwined hands. Eddie was watching Richie almost the entire time and it made Richie’s skin itch. Eddie wasn’t drinking, probably due to the pain killers, but Richie was and for every second those eyes were on him he could feel his face and his skin heating and the alcohol making it hard to ignore. That small-big part of him getting harder and harder to ignore.

“I’m gonna go have a smoke,” Richie said after a little while, needing some fresh air and the cool night breeze on his face.

“I’ll go with you.” Bev said, cheeks pinked but expression suddenly somber. Richie shrugged, lifting a hand at the table as they made their way outside.

The patio had a smattering of older men drinking cheap beer and smoking cheap cigarettes, talking far too loudly, but for the most part it was quiet. Richie perched himself on one of the wooden picnic tables, lighting the end of his cigarette and offering the lighter to Bev.

They were both quiet for a moment before Bev suddenly looked at him, leveling him with an, admittedly, terrifying stare.

“What?” He asked, trying and failing to play dumb. She rolled her eyes and lifted herself onto the table next to him.

“I was the first one to see him after he got out of surgery,” she said in lieu of a reply. She took a long drag of her cigarette and looked over at him again. “He was in really bad shape, super drugged up, but the first thing he said was ‘ _ where’s Richie _ ’. He just asked for you over and over and when I told him you’d left… he was… he was devastated. He kept saying that he needed to talk to you. He needed to tell you something. He  _ begged _ me to call you, to let him talk, but I told him he was really out of it and that he could wait. He was fucking… freaking out, Rich. You should have been there. He needed you.”

Richie’s jaw was set and his cigarette had untapped ashes where it continued to burn despite his disuse. He stared at the concrete, breathing slowly through his nose.

Finally he said, “I… Bev, I couldn’t. If he had died I would have… I don’t know. I can’t even think about-- but if he didn’t die then I couldn’t… watch him leave with- I couldn’t watch him leave.”

“So you left? Just because you  _ thought _ he would leave, you decided to beat him to it? That sucks, Rich. That really sucks.”

“He has a fucking _ wife _ , Bev, what the fuck did you want me to do? I’m not his fucking…  _ babysitter _ . I’m not his  _ mom _ . He already has someone--” he stopped himself, eyes going wide and refusing to look at Beverly. Except she already knew. He remembered suddenly

_ A warm summer night when they were in highschool, sharing cigarettes and wine coolers at the edge of the quarry. Just him and Bev. His cheeks felt hot and his face was buzzing pleasantly. He looked over at her and for a moment it looked like she was going to kiss him and for a moment he thought he might want to, but then he pulled back and blurted out, “I’m gay!” as if it was nothing. As if it wasn’t the thing he was the most scared to say. It was Bev, though. She just blinked and plucked the cigarette out from between his fingers and took a drag. As she blew out, she grinned. _

_ “Eddie?” She asked, quiet and secret like he was hoping. He let out a long, shaking breath and nodded. She watched him, carefully, like she always did, and leaned forward to kiss him sweetly on the cheek. “I won’t say anything, but for the record I’m very proud of you. And I love you. Thank you for telling me.” _

_ He had simply nodded and mumbled a quiet “I love you, too, Bev,” before shoving his shoulder against hers, face breaking out in a smile, because he had said it and she hadn’t freaked out, hadn’t judged him or made him feel like a weirdo or a pervert, and a small fraction of his wall was chipped away. _

She was looking at him like that again, now. The way she had before. That sincere, loving way that let him know that she  _ knew _ , still. Maybe she just remembered, like he had, but he had still said the words to her before and so he didn’t have to again. That was a small comfort, at least.

“You should talk to him.” Is what she said and those were not the words he thought were going to come from her mouth. He looked at her, finally, eyes still wide and maybe a little glassier than he would have liked.

“Bev, I… I can’t just  _ talk _ to him. This isn’t like you and Ben. This isn’t some fucking… rom com ending. He has a  _ wife _ . He doesn’t like  _ men _ . He doesn’t like  _ me _ \--”

“Rich, you have to fucking  _ talk _ to him! He told me- I don’t think it’s going to go like you think it will.”

“What the fuck does  _ that _ mean?” Richie gaped at her, eyebrows furrowed and beer clutched so firmly in his hand he was sure it was going to break. “That doesn’t-- that doesn’t fucking mean  _ anything _ !”

Bev just sighed and rolled her eyes again, taking a sip of her beer. “You’ve always been clueless about this stuff, you know,” she said quietly, “you know that I had a crush on you? It was small and, honestly, I think we all had crushes on each other anyway but-”

“Okay, now you’re being a fucking idiot, Bev. Yeah,  _ I _ had crushes on everyone, and maybe you did, too, but Bill’s straight, Mike’s straight, Ben’s straight for apparently only you, and Eddie is  _ fucking married _ if I haven’t said it enough tonight. To a  _ woman _ . We didn’t have  _ crushes _ on each other like goddamn Bachelor in Paradise. This isn’t a reality T.V. show. This is real life and it fucking sucks.”

Richie was breathing hard and his heart was pounding because  _ what if she’s right? _ If Mike and Ben were emotionally intelligent then Beverly was intelligent about  _ people _ . About the ways they ticked. She was always the first to pick up on when Eddie’s mom was being particularly unbearable, when Bill’s parents were being just a bit too careless, when Mike had had to deal with the prejudice that was more than prevalent in Derry. She may not have had the best way of addressing it, but she always  _ knew _ , more so than anyone else.

“You’re the fucking idiot, Rich. Just talk to him.”

Richie sighed and drained the last of his beer.

They went back inside.

Richie did not talk to Eddie.

When they rejoined the table, Ben - more tipsy then Richie had ever seen him - had apparently signed up to sing a rendition of  _ Time After Time _ and Mike had signed up for another old crooner song. Eddie, also, seemed to have signed up for a song but he was being uncharacteristically tight-lipped about it.

Bev sent Richie a significant glance.

Richie ignored it and got another beer.

Ben was adorable and far too passionate about Cyndi Lauper. He gestured wildly at Bev the entire time, causing her to collapse into giggles in her seat. Mike was, again, breathtaking singing  _ Minnie the Moocher _ , eery and perfectly on key and somehow gauding the audience into echoing him. Then it was Eddie’s turn.

Richie tried to remember a time - any time - that Eddie had ever sung. He had the strange feeling of a memory lost that Eddie was a little tone deaf and a lot passionate, but the strange flashes of memory were interrupted by the man in question clearing his throat into the microphone.

The melodic bell-like opening immediately caught Richie’s breath with its nostalgia. Someone in the bar shouted and clapped. It might have been Ben.

“ _ I have a picture… pinned to my wall _ …”

The natural instinct that Eddie was tone deaf was, apparently, correct. Except Richie could feel his heart start to beat faster for a reason he couldn’t parse. Not just yet.

“ _ Look at our life now, tattered and torn. We fuss and we fight and delight in the tears that we cry until dawn… _ ”

Richie’s breath caught in his throat and he was sure if he looked at Beverly right now she would be looking at him in that way she does where she knows she’s right and she’s just waiting for him to admit it.

“ _ You say I'm a dreamer, we're two of a kind… both of us searching for some perfect world we know we'll never find… so perhaps I should leave here, yeah yeah go far away… but you know that there's no where that I'd rather be than with you here- _ ”

And, yes… Eddie was looking at him. Directly. In the eyes.

“ _ Today… oh hold me now… warm my heart… stay with me! Let loving start, let loving start! _ ”

Richie stood up and marched immediately onto the patio.

He could hear the rest of the music playing from the open door but the words were suddenly gone. After a moment a different voice continued the song, someone more on-key and somewhat trained in singing. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth and lit it with shaking hands.

“Rich-”

He looked up and Eddie was right there, suddenly, lips parted and eyebrows pulled back in a concerned expression. Richie stared at him, ears suddenly going fuzzy. Eddie wasn’t saying anything else, however, just staring. As soon as his hearing returned, Richie, ducked his head and took a long pull from his cigarette.

“I think you need singing lessons, dude, you sounded like garbage.”

There was a moment where Eddie looked like he was about to give into the insult before his face, frustratingly, evened out and he just looked concerned.

“Richie, I wanted--”

“Like, seriously, it was painful to hear. I’m glad you gave up so that my ears could have a minute to repair themselves. I’m pretty sure they’re bleeding,” he reached up to touch his ears delicately, making a face at Eddie that was pure comedy and absolutely no emotion.

“Richie, please I need to--”

“Good thing you’re not drinking, right? Woulda been a whole night of nails on the chalkboard to the tune of fucking 80s classics, apparently. Nice choice, by the way, very on brand--”

“Will you please shut the  _ fuck _ up, Tozier, I’m trying to be a goddamn adult here!”

Richie shut up. He always did when Eddie was serious.

“Jesus fucking christ, you’re making regret-- you’re fucking ridiculous, Rich.”

Because he knew it would make Eddie laugh, Richie did a little bow, going deep and getting the weird feeling that he meant it.

Eddie laughed.

“Why did you run away?” He asked, laughter still in his mouth but his tone contradicting that.

“Didn’t I already tell you? You sounded like a discount Robert Smith--”

“ _ Richie _ -”

“Fuck, Eddie, I don’t fucking know! You were looking at me and singing this stupid fucking one hit wonder talking about… pictures and like holding someone and I don’t know, dude. It just felt like… it was a lot.”

Eddie looked at him and it was almost a perfect rendition of Beverly’s knowing look. Richie didn’t make eye contact.

“Why did you pick it? Trying to admit your gay feelings for Ben? I understand, he’s fucking ripped so--”

“ _ Richie. _ ”

This time, even though Eddie didn’t tell him to, he shut up.

“Richie… why the  _ fuck _ do you think I picked that song?”

And then the memory hit him like every other memory had, except harder and it hurt more than any of the other ones had. It was a

_ Cold October night. A week before Halloween and Eddie had somehow convinced his mother to let him stay the night at a friends house to make up for the fact that he wouldn’t be able to go trick-or-treating due to the apparent risks his mother had recited to him that Richie hadn’t been paying attention to, because Eddie was  _ here _ . He was only allowed one sleepover and Eddie chose  _ Richie _ . And Richie was still flabberghasted even as Eddie crossed his threshold, overnight bag in hand. _

_ “- And I figured we could watch some scary movies, since I have to skip fucking  _ Halloween _ because apparently people put  _ razorblades _ in fucking candy, now. Really, Richie, you shouldn’t go trick-or-treating, either. It’s basically  _ asking _ these assholes to drug you and cut you up in their basements.” _

_ “That’s so stupid, you know that’s not true, right? People aren’t going to waste good drugs on kids. And what’s the point of putting razorblades in someone’s candy? You have to break the seal, it’s too much work. A murderer could snatch you out of the streets way more easily than hiding  _ razorblades _ \--” _

_ “Oh, great, thanks for adding  _ another _ reason why people shouldn’t go trick-or-treating, Richie! Now I’m gonna be thinking about  _ that _ for the rest of my life, you fucking asshole--” _

_ And so the night went. They did watch some of a scary movie but they had found that their taste for horror had gone sour and so they ended up in Richie’s bed, laying on their backs, pressed against each other in a way they never would have let happen were they in front of anyone else, even the rest of the Losers. Richie was playing a mixtape he had made recently and Eddie had his eyes closed, listening intently to the music. He was humming out of tune to the Thompson Twins and Richie was watching him unabashedly. _

_ “Hold me now,” Eddie had sung, quietly, under his breath. “warm my heart… stay with me… let loving start, let loving start…” _

_ Richie’s breath caught in his throat and, in order to prevent some unfortunate lapse of impulse control he sat up and sang, loudly, _

_ “You ask if I love you,” he wore a comical face, pressing a hand to his chest and gesturing towards Eddie, “well what can I  _ say _ ?” _

_ The two sang the song so loudly that Mrs. Tozier had to knock on the door at almost 11pm and tell them to quiet down. They listened to it again and again, quieter and acting out elaborate mimes to the song. Up until they each individually left Derry, every time that song came on the radio they would look each other in the eye and smile, private and secret. _

“Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh _ , Richie. Fuck, do I have to spell everything out for you?”

Richie was staring at Eddie, eyes wide like he’d been with Beverly. Eddie was staring at him and it was up until this moment that Richie realized that Eddie was fucking  _ terrified _ . His hands were shaking where they were held out in front of his chest. He had been gesturing wildly like he always did, but his hands had died mid-air and stuck in a stasis of gesticulation. After a moment they fell, silently, to his side.

“Cool, so… thanks for the answer. Guess I’ll… I’ll go fuck myself and go back inside.”

Eddie was frowning and his eyebrows were pinched and he was breathing in the way that Richie realized was the beginning of an anxiety -  _ not asthma, anxiety  _ \- attack.

“Eddie-”

“No, you made yourself perfectly clear when you fucking left, Rich. See you fucking never.”

“Eddie, wait--”

“No,  _ you _ fucking wait, Tozier! I’ve spent the better part of two fucking decades in love with someone I didn’t even fucking remember and when I did I realized my whole goddamn life was a lie and I guess I had to sort that shit out except for -  _ oh right _ \- there was a killer demon clown and my fucking gay ass feelings would have to wait, right? And then we fucking killed it and I was in the hospital and I fucking  _ told myself _ that as soon as I could see you I would tell you and we could figure it out but  _ oh WAIT _ you fucking  _ left me _ for shit! And you wouldn’t pick up your phone or answer texts and I figured  _ cool _ , guess you’re just done with us all, right? Except you actually fucking  _ came _ to a karaoke night at a shitty bar an eight plus hour flight away from where you lived just to…  _ what, Richie _ ? Tell me I’m a disgusting faggot and you couldn’t ever--”

And then Richie kissed Eddie.

It was mostly to shut him up, but it was also because he wanted to, more than anything. There was a grumble from the old men at the table adjacent to them, but he didn’t pay them any mind because Eddie was kissing him  _ back _ and it was fierce and it was  _ angry _ and it was everything he had ever wanted.

Eddie crowded him against the picnic table, hands on Richie’s hips and teeth out, nipping aggressively at his lips. Inbetween kisses Richie could make out the words “ _ Fucking hate you,” and “you’re such an asshole _ ” and it felt so good because it’s exactly how he imagined his first kiss with Eddie to be. There was no sweetness, no desperate longing. It was pure rage, annoyance and frustration taken out in the best way Richie could imagine.

They clutched at each other desperately, Richie’s lip was bit again and again until it wasn’t and Eddie calmed to a gentle and passionate kiss.

When they parted, Eddie stayed close and he said against Richie’s mouth, “you’re a fucking asshole, you know that, right?”

Richie just hummed and kissed him again because he could, apparently. The men had stopped paying them any mind and when they reentered the bar they were holding hands. Bev physically folded herself in half, taking a moment to take in everything she’d known for two decades coming to fruition. Ben looked surprised but then sloppily asked them if they were staying. Richie tightened his hold on Eddie’s hand and said.

“Yeah, he’s gonna stay with me if you mother hens will let him on a plane.”

They did.

When Eddie walked through his front door days later his first words were,

“Thank fucking god you have a cleaning lady.”

She was fired three days later for never using sanitizing wipes on the toilet.

Richie didn’t mind. There was someone here looking out for him, someone who made his sterile home feel lived in for the first time since he moved.

He proposed a week later, his grandmother’s ring clutched shakily between his fingers and Eddie shouting at him that his joke had gone too far.

He’d said yes, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi thank you for reading <3 I'd appreciate a comment and kudo if you liked it! Also follow me on twitter @peachieweech and tumblr @beepbeepbitchboy! Feel free to message me with prompts cuz tbh I would love that a lot.


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